Monday, February 27, 2012

A Visit to Word World...

Although it's not something I usually sit around pondering, in general I like to think I'm passing along a healthy dose of curiosity and inquisitiveness to my little darlings. They love things like reading, and experiencing new things, and seeking out fresh information. They're particularly fascinated by words, which of course gives rise to the horrific Derek puns I've mentioned before...but which manifests itself a bit differently these days in Riley. Or, as he shall be known: Vocabulary Boy...starring in Adventures in Etymology. Our episode begins one afternoon when Riley arrived home from school and instantly inquired, "Do you know what persecute means?" (Um...hi, honey, how was your day? It's good to see you!) "Yeeessss," I answered, "whyyyy?" He shrugged and answered, "It's a word we looked up in class today. It means 'to oppress or harass with ill treatment, or to annoy persistently'!" (Yes, that's what actually came out of his mouth. Verbatim.) Oh. Good. Grief. He's apparently memorizing the dictionary, one SAT term at a time. But he wasn't done: "We also studied admonish and probation!" That's...awesome, sweetie...now stop thinking, and go outside and run around for a while, would ya? (Wait, did I really just say that?)

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, then, when he wandered into the School Supplies section the last time we were in Staples, stared wistfully at the shelf, and stated, "I really wish I had a Pocket Thesaurus." (Of course you do, baby. Don't we all?) Or the other morning, when Riley moseyed his way--blinking and yawning--downstairs for breakfast after Husband woke him. By way of greeting, Husband brightly chirped, "Look what I found! Can we keep him?" It was pre-coffee, so I wasn't too quick to engage in witty repartee, but Riley jumped right in with, "Sure! As long as I don't annoy you too much!" Husband shot back, "We'll try you on a probationary basis." To which Riley (never to surrender the last word if he can possibly help it) finished with, "I admonish you not to put me on probation!" That was enough for me before 8 a.m.--I had to retreat until the caffeine kicked in...

But the Final Word, if you will, occurred last night, when Husband was tucking Riley into bed. Riley is a collector of sorts (too young to be labeled a Hoarder...and I start chucking stuff when it threatens to overtake every bare surface in his room, anyway) so has pockets of "special items" stashed in strategic spots around his room. Husband commented that he must be the only child on the planet whose room boasts stuffed frogs in no less than 5 separate places. Riley sleepily mumbled something in reply, which sounded to Husband like "You said it, Riley." Husband confusedly responded, "No, you're Riley." To which the 8-year old clarified, "No, you said that w-r-y-l-y, wryly!" Sigh. Husband reported that the only thing he could do at that point--besides gaping at our beloved youngest child like the Dictionary Demon that he is--was to advise him sternly to go to sleep...the sooner the better!

The good news is, apparently once your brain recovers from the sleep-deprived, high-maintenance Infant Phase, and the Constant-Vigilance, Temper-Tantrum Toddler Years, you get some neural stimulation back in the Elementary School Period. Yee ha! Anyone who claims that Parenting makes you dumb...I challenge them to arm themselves with a copy of the OED, and start prepping for 3rd Grade!

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Male...Fashion?

President's Day: a federal holiday, a school hiatus, a good excuse for a 3-day weekend in the middle of the long, cold Winter. (Although not as frigid as usual...knocking wood! Throwing salt over shoulder! Wait, does that even help? Oh well, whatever it takes to continue appeasing the benevolent Winter Gods so they don't blast us with a March snowstorm!) Husband's office doesn't shut down to acknowledge George and Abe, so it was just me and the boys on our Bonus-Vacation-Monday. What to do? I racked my brains for a good idea-- visit a Historical Site? Explore a cool Nature Center? Take a hike somewhere? When I polled the under-12 electorate, though, they claimed to be "too tired" to attempt anything so ambitious on their day off. So that left us with only one option: the ever-so-thrilling Trip to Target. (Hey, they asked for it!) The bribe--I mean motivational tactic--was that Riley had his monthly allowance to spend, and Derek would get new shorts out of the venture. (Because, you know, nothing screams "bare knees" like sub-freezing February temperatures...)

So, we invaded the local Tar-jay in search of the varied items on our list: a USB drive, dishwasher soap, mouthwash, Ibuprofen, nail files, cereal. (Yes, it was a weird group of stuff...which is actually the norm for my Target jaunts...I don't know what that says about me...) And along the way we managed to find acceptable shorts for Derek. Not that he's picky, he really couldn't care less what he throws on to cover his body in the morning. It was more a matter of finding the delicate balance between "what blends into the Middle School crowd" and "what Mom's willing to pay, when she has to replace every blasted pair of shorts you own at the moment". I should back up just a bit and explain: the day before, when we were at my nephew's birthday party and Derek was running amok with his cousins, I had noticed for the first time that his current pantswear--which he'd been sporting for probably 2 years, mind you--no longer grazed his knees, where he preferred them, and I was accustomed to seeing them. Instead, they came to rest a couple of inches north of that bony landmark...which was still in no way too-revealing or overly-small, but just...unusual.

So we purchased some nice, baggy, knee-length basketball shorts that pleased both of us. And after we paid for them and were leaving the store, my understated, laid-back child commented in passing, "That's good, now my friends can stop calling me 'booty-shorts-boy'!" Are. You. Kidding. Me? I was soooooo tempted to immediately Google something like "Larry Bird 1970" or "Magic Johnson Lakers," and thereby demonstrate beyond a shadow of a doubt what so-called 'booty shorts' really look like. Son, you have NO idea how fortunate you are that sometime in the 80s, college students decided to instigate the Homeboy Shorts Era and cover up a great deal of physical territory that used to be hanging all out. Three little words for you, Derek: hairy male thighs. Do I need to tell you how NOT a good thing that was? Well, now we can all rest assured that Derek will be rejoining the Stylish Squad at his lunch table, in shorts that admirably hide the proper amount of his glaringly-pale limbs from public view. I'm sure it will take the young rascals (all of whom I'm pretty familiar with, so I know what I'm talking about, here) all of about 6 seconds or so to latch onto a new topic for masculine teasing and commentary. But the Booty Shorts Boy has been vanquished! (All hail Super Mom!)

Sunday, February 19, 2012

Here comes Lent...hide the chocolate!

I feel like a broken record--wait a minute..."record"? What's that? We really have to come up with a modern-day equivalent for that simile...so how about: I feel like...an mp3 player stuck on repeat? It just lacks a certain folksy ring, yes? Now, where was I? Oh yes, I feel like I've expressed the same sentiment for the last several years, but somehow Fat Tuesday always seems to sneak up on me. I mean, wasn't it, oh, yesterday when we were all waiting on the Groundhog and crossing our fingers for Spring? And now the Lenten Season is breathing down our necks. I mentioned this in passing to the boys, in the context of "yippee, we get to eat pancakes for dinner on Tuesday night!" (Not that this is ever prohibited, mind you, but on Mardi Gras it's practically...required. Thank goodness no one thought to ask me how flapjacks came to be associated with Jesus, because I could certainly make something up, but I truly haven't the foggiest idea.)

Anyway, in our free-association conversation, Derek jumped immediately to "Don't we usually give something up for Lent?" I clarified that many people approach it as a time for self-sacrifice and/or self-improvement, therefore cutting something out or adding a positive habit. He continued, "Remember we gave up dessert one year?" (This whole dialogue occurred in the car, but I could feel his shudder of disgust all the way from the back seat.) "Well, let's brainstorm," I suggested, "and see what we can think up." Not even a pause-for-breath later, he barked, "TOFU! Definitely tofu!" (Funny how that seems to be the very first thing that springs to his mind...every year when we have this little chat!) I countered with, "I know-- you could be a vegetarian for 40 days!" Well, you can imagine the impassioned response. It went something along the lines of: "No, no, NO! If you make me do that, I'm having steak for breakfast on Fat Tuesday...with bacon! And another one for lunch...and some chicken...and more bacon!" (Okay, calm down, camper, I get the picture.)

Next, my (mostly-teasing) suggestion for "not playing video games" was shot down in quite a hurry. Then Riley tentatively offered to not have any "Brother Sleepovers" (when Riley camps out on his mattress on Derek's floor on a Friday or Saturday night), but since it's their special bonding time, I nixed that idea. After some more silent pondering, I finally exclaimed, "I've got it! We'll all give up Nutella!" Oh, the uproar. "Forget it, uh-uh, no way!" they sputtered in outrage. That brought us right back around to...dessert. But before you applaud our good intentions or attempted efforts, let me explain in the interest of full disclosure that our "self-denial" extends only to: "weekday sweets...after dinner." Yes, they still get to have their lunchbox cookies and ice cream on weekends. Oh well, you've got to start the Self-Development Plan somewhere, right? Now maybe I can push my luck, and get them to practice a new, positive behavior as well? Hmm...cooking dinner? Doing their own laundry? Or possibly just microwaving Mom some tea once in a while...laissez les bon temps roulez, indeed!

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

My Funny Valentine(s)

Yes, it's February 14th, and you know what that means--a day of love, and romance, and hearts, and flowers...or in my case, a fully-sanctioned Chocolate Pig-out Day! (Not like I need an excuse, but somehow, giving it an official title makes it sound more...respectable and less...fattening?) Now, please allow me to describe Valentine's Day in my house full of males:

The Good: Husband knows that the perfect gift for me is, of course, chocolate. Dark only, please. By the bagful, thank you very much! (For him, it's Good & Plenty candy. I can't even begin to understand the allure of sugar-coated licorice. But at least we each have our own stash of happy sweets!) I managed to surprise the sons with some little trinkets--mini M&Ms for each, a new basketball for Derek, to replace his half-deflated one, and an Angry Birds pencil-topper for Riley because...well, because nothing pleases Riley more than collecting silly things. Riley was typically exuberant when he came downstairs at breakfast time and saw his treats. But Derek was the cutest; he said, "I didn't expect to celebrate, since in Middle School, you never get anything for holidays." Aww.

The Amusing: (sub-category: something about "apples not falling far from trees" and whatnot) I've mentioned that Derek enjoys making really...really awful puns (I know you're thinking "is there such a thing as a good pun?" Well if there is...they don't come from him.) The card he picked out for me has a bird on the front, and inside it says "Mom, know what? Owl always love you!" Ouch! (He even signed it "Dr. Pun"--I'm not kidding, this boy clearly uses his powers for...well, not evil, exactly, but surely mild-pain-inducement!) But the real punchline is: the card I bought for him...has an owl on the front...and inside it says "Hope your Valentine's Day is a real hoot!" Oh no! I did cause this! My bad! And finally, Husband's choice of Hallmark Greetings conveys the touching, sentimental message: (front) "Of course I love you! (inside) "Who else would put up with all my crap?" And that, my friends, is the cement that holds a marriages together for the long haul...a Husband willing to take more than his share of the heat...okay, that and the chocolate!

The Sweet:  This morning I was preparing myself for work, somewhere in the middle of the pjs-to-professional-clothes transformation, when Riley looked up briefly from playing a game on my iTouch and commented, "You look beautiful, Mommy." Um...thanks, honey, but I'm only half-dressed at the moment. His matter-of-fact reply: "It doesn't matter what you're wearing, you're still beautiful!" (Sniffle. What a sweetie.) Since I usually don't see Derek before he leaves for school (at that hour I like to call "Too Ungodly Early for Mom to be Pleasant"), as soon as he got home he gave me a hug and thanked me for his Valentine's Day gifts. That's the exact second when I noticed...I can't see over the top of his head anymore...which I could definitely do at Christmas time. So, this may be the very last February 14th that I remain taller than my oldest baby. (Sniffle.)

And so let's conclude with: The Ridiculous (aka: "just when you thought it couldn't get any goofier") Over the weekend, when I was transferring iTunes information from the old desktop PC to the new laptop, Derek wanted me to freshen up his song list a bit. I added some Bon Jovi (that's my boy) from our collection, and he asked me to download a couple of current songs. Specifically: Sexy and I Know It...by LMFAO. "I want that one too!" Riley piped up. (Naturally. Sigh.) "Fine," I thought, it'll just be added into their Playlists, and pop up every once in a while as they listen. But noooooo. The moment I put it on their devices, they apparently set it to repeat...as many times as it took to completely learn the words. Thus, picture my precious 8-year old, prancing around the house with his headphones firmly planted on his ears, singing the following delightful refrain: "I got passion in my pants, and I ain't afraid to show it (show it, show it--and yes, he does that part too)--I'm sexy and I know it!" He delivers it with utter conviction and a great deal of showmanship...but I'm just SOOOOO not comfortable with my 3rd-grader sharing the "passion in his pants" with the world at large! Oy!

Well, that's Valentine's Day in our madhouse: presents, puns, and...passion in our pants! (I need to go have some more chocolate...)

Monday, February 13, 2012

Kids these days...

A couple of conversations this past week fell firmly into the Laugh Out Loud category...although the first one also earned a Sub-Heading of "Stuff I'm sooooo very NOT ready to face!"

Let's start with Derek: after school one day as we were having our 3 p.m. Summarize and Strategize Meeting (formerly known as "How was your day, honey?"--you know, back in less-serious Elementary School), he mentioned that his Registration Forms for 7th grade could be found in his backpack, for me to review, approve, and sign. (Of course I'm trying to glamorize my job--makes me sound like the WestEnders....CEO, right?) Then he ever-so-casually added that earlier the same day, a Guidance Counselor had interrupted the 6th-grade schedule to speak to them about...dating. (!?) Yes, evidently those intrepid 12-year olds needed a good old-fashioned lecture about, ahem, "girls not being a piece of meat to pass around." Oh. Good. Heavens. I sat there struggling to wrap my mind around A) the utter absurdity of pre-teenagers even beginning to consider engaging with the Opposite Sex and B) the fact that it sounds like they must be getting their relationship information from Hollywood. (And just what the heck are these kids watching, anyway? No Strings Attached? Swingers? Jeesh!) I was working up a good head of steam to launch into full-blown Mom Instructional Mode when Derek suddenly giggled and interjected, "Then Nick said, 'mmm....meat....delicious'!'" I suppose Ms. T didn't hear that (luckily for Nick--and Derek, who I'm sure was snickering right along with him) because she apparently continued dispensing her sage and timely advice. The only other thing Derek took away from this little interlude was that she humorously concluded, "Wait until 10th or 11th grade--the girls will look much better then!" To which another one of Derek's good buddies muttered, "They look pretty good right now!" So there you have it: on the one hand, a lighthearted, "who needs this silly girl stuff" attitude, and on the other hand...a boy who's far too advanced to be hanging out with my precious baby.

Suffice it to say, I felt quite relieved when we continued chatting and the subject of the Valentine's Day Dance came up, to which Derek's instantaneous response was: "It costs five bucks!" Even though I would of course subsidize the school event if he wished to attend, I took that as a clear sign that he wasn't the least bit interested. Then he joked, "Even if I did go on a date, it'd have to be to McDonald's, and she'd have to order off the Dollar Menu!" Fortunately, that sums up his feelings on the whole subject of girls at this moment: hilarious, and not-applicable to him, personally. (Yesssss!)

So, now let's move on to Riley...on Saturday morning, Husband was preparing breakfast for the Bottomless Pits--I mean Cherished Sons. When he was ready to summon them to the table, a strange noise emanated from the kitchen, sort of like a bird...desperately chirping...while being strangled. This turned out to be Husband's wildly unsuccessful attempt at whistling "come and get it". Once we'd all had a chuckle, and established that there was not some poor avian creature in distress in our house, Husband apologized by saying, "Sorry, guys, there's something wrong with my tweet--and I don't mean on Twitter!" (Keep in mind, Husband isn't even a twit...I mean doesn't tweet...I mean refuses to participate in any form of Social Networking at all, so this was kind of random, coming from him.) Riley, heading up the stairs to wash his hands before eating, shot back over his shoulder, "What, did you use a hundred and forty ONE characters, or something?" Dumbfounded, I gaped at my 8-year old child and stammered, "What the....how do you even know that?" His immediate reply was an offhand shrug and "Eh...media!" Aaarrrrghhhh! Either he has some awfully world-wise 3rd-grade pals, or...I don't know what else it could possibly be!

That's my family in a nutshell these days: one practical son who seems in no particular hurry to grow up too fast...and one little plugged-in guy who knows entirely too much. One balances out the other, I guess? Or just keeps Mom off-balance!

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Where Fiction meets Real Life...

For as long as I can possibly remember, I have nurtured an ongoing love affair with books. There has never been a time in my life that I haven't been in the middle of reading something for pleasure. (With one notable exception: the "Dark Ages", aka my Graduate School Years--when I had to read thousands of pages of anatomy, and neurology, and language development, and couldn't spare any brain cells to focus on a novel. Yes, what an extraordinarily sad time that was in my Literary Life!) But I don't just read a story, enjoying the plot and characters in a detached, third-person kind of way...you know, like the manner in which a normal human being approaches a book. Quite the contrary--for me, if I'm truly caught up in a narrative, I feel almost like I'm part of the tale, like I know the characters personally (and care deeply about what happens to them, of course), like my emotions are completely engaged in what's transpiring on the page. I mean, my heart has been known to pound, my blood to boil, my spirits to lift, my tears to flow, my laughter to bubble up--all as a result of the typewritten words in front of me. This explains why I periodically reread books I first discovered as a teenager (A Wrinkle in Time), since it seems like visiting familiar, beloved old friends. It also speaks to why I devoured the Hunger Games trilogy in less than a week (and was so intensely involved in Katniss's plight that I literally could not breathe for the last chapter...or view the print very well through the mist in my eyes. Is this a common problem? Let's just say yes and move on, shall we?)

And then, of course, there's...Harry. (First names only, that's how close we are...in my own little universe...) How could I fail to mention the best thing to happen to Children's Fiction in...well...ever? (I may very well be biased. So what, it's my Blog and I'll opinion...ate if I want to!) I first made the acquaintance of The Boy Who Lived a few years after he appeared in print. I had heard the buzz, and wanted to see for myself what it was all about. Incidentally, have I ever mentioned that when I was growing up, I wanted to BE a witch? And I'm not just talking about watching Bewitched and thinking "oh, how cool to be able to cast spells." Oh no, I distinctly recall asking my Elementary School Librarian for a handbook, or something, on how to transform oneself into an actual witch. (This woman was such a treasure. She and I had a lovely relationship, whereby I'd come in every day--yes that's right, I said every day--before school and choose a new book to read. Don't act surprised; I know I've 'fessed up to my uber-nerdy-childhood before.) Bless her, Ms. F took my request in stride...but regretfully informed me that no such book existed. Undeterred, I set out to write my own Spellbook. (Infuriatingly, none of my formulas worked.) Anyway...you can see why the fantastical world of Wizards and Muggles grabbed me so tightly; I secretly wanted it all to be true! (And let's face it, in my own school era, I kinda was Hermione...without the wand.) I pre-ordered HP Book 7, so it would arrive on Publishing Day. When we heard it hit the doorstep (it is 800 pages, after all...and yes, of course I was listening for the delivery truck) my family knew I was not to be disturbed until I had absorbed it cover-to-cover. I unfortunately had to stop to sleep when I couldn't see straight anymore, but I read that sucker in less than 24 hours...and felt utterly bereft when it was over. What do you mean, no more Harry?

So how does this relate to my life in the present? (Besides still waiting for J.K. Rowling to write something else?) As with so many things, it seems I've passed this particular trait to my sons. When Derek was old enough, we read the Harry Potter series aloud to him. All seven books, no cutting, no changing words, no toning it down. Then a few years later we did the same thing for Riley. Eventually each of the boys has taken the books and read them on their own, befriending Harry, Ron, and Hermione just as I did. Derek is in the middle of rereading the entire series right now, as a matter of fact. And I wasn't aware of quite how much of my--let's call it Imagination Gene--he actually harbored until he said just the other day, "Mom, I'm almost 12 years old...and I still haven't gotten my Hogwarts Letter yet!" (I feel your pain, buddy--me neither! And lest you worry about our collective grip on reality, let me assure you that we were both kidding...mostly...) Then last night he looked up from Order of the Phoenix and called from his room, "Mom, can I go to Quidditch Camp this Summer?" You bet, honey! And maybe I can sign up for that Charms class I've always wanted to take, too! Clearly I've got some research to do...wands and brooms to buy...serious Intervention to schedule for two people a bit too involved in a rich, vivid Fantasy life...

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Technological Trials

We just had one of those (fortunately very rare) weeks when technology, which is usually a dependable, agreeable presence in our household, decided to all of a sudden turn around and bite us in the...well, wallet, in this case. I guess you could say Husband and I actually started the cyber-snowball rolling when we decided it was time to replace the "downstairs computer". This was a desktop computer, with the full set of space-sucking components--keyboard, mouse, monitor, CPU. Also, it was 8-1/2 years old, which as we all know is just ancient in computer years. Furthermore, due to a tragic series of vicious viral attacks, it had already been resuscitated from the machine graveyard....twice. We figured we were just pushing our luck asking this poor old guy to keep chugging along for us. So we patted ourselves on the back for being proactive and putting it out to pasture before it died once and for all. We agreed that we would purchase a laptop this time--smaller and more efficient. Then I of course performed copious amounts of research to decide exactly which one to buy. So far, so good. I reached a conclusion, ran it by the rest of the Board, (um...also known as "Husband") and ordered our new computer.

In the meantime, Husband continued to utilize the current desktop until Fed Ex delivered its replacement, and I emailed and blogged and Facebooked like I normally do, on the "upstairs computer" (my laptop). Business as usual....until the fateful Tuesday afternoon that the Dell box arrived on our doorstep, that is. I unwrapped the new laptop and did the obligatory oohing and aahing over its shiny, sleek exterior. I didn't plan to set it up, however, until perhaps the weekend, when we would have time to fully backup and wipe clean the old CPU and effect the file transfer to the new machine. BUT (there's always a "but" in my stories, have you noticed?) after finishing the admiration period, I retired upstairs to--I don't remember what, but probably post something about it on Facebook--and disaster struck. I simply picked up my power cord to move it a few inches out of my way, and the...electrical...box...thingy...popped loudly and shot angry sparks at me. After dropping the cord to the ground and inspecting it closely to make sure it wasn't going to ignite the carpet, I carefully picked it back up and spotted an exposed section of wires where--and here I'm employing my extensive knowledge of electrical...doohickeys--the short had occurred. (You like that? Real Official Electrician's Terminology...or something.) The computer itself appeared not to have noticed the drama, and was still humming along serenely...but now it couldn't be plugged in and charged.

How to address this dilemma? Why, steal--I mean commandeer--the new "downstairs laptop", naturally! This would buy me some time to try to scrounge up a suitable power source, if it even existed. The thing is, my laptop is almost 5 years old, which is, if possible, even more antiquated in "portable computer years" than the one we had just finished switching. The practical consequence is: the technology has of course changed over the past several years, meaning that even an extremely well-stocked Computer Megastore could not locate a power cord that matched my fried one. And Toshiba wanted a cool hundred bucks to send me a new one...for a computer I spent around $500 on in the first place...that I was planning to upgrade this summer anyway. Wait, let me think--throw money at an old, heavy, bulky laptop to get it to last a few more months...or channel that same moolah toward a brand-spanking-new, ultra-thin-and-light netbook?  Um, thanks but no thanks, Toshiba!

So the good news was that I would be getting a new computer at an earlier date than expected. And the bad news? A bit of a shock to the old credit card, that's all, nothing it can't handle. And here I sit, typing away on the "borrowed" laptop while waiting for Fed Ex...again. And hey, I've already practiced by configuring one computer this week--removing all the stupid unnecessary trial programs; downloading the preferred browser; installing all of the free anti-virus/spyware/malware (don't ask me what the difference is, I just follow directions and do what I'm told...by Expert Geeks); adjusting the Touchpad buttons so they Stop. Ticking. Me. OFF. When the next one shows up, I'll be ready to tackle that sucker and get it up and running in no time. (And yes, I DO want my Tech Support t-shirt, thank you very much!) But I would have to say, we are absolutely D-O-N-E. We've had our share of technical difficulties for the entire year, all crammed into one week. I expect a smooth, trouble-free 2012 from here on out...now where can I download that?

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Yet Another Clothing Conundrum

Over the years, I've reached the inescapable conclusion that my children must be part Polar Bear, due to their uncanny ability to generate and maintain their own supply of warmth without the benefit of extra layers of clothing. (Don't ask me exactly how that happened--given that my own Personal Preferred Temperature lies somewhere between...oh, 70 and 85 degrees. Below that, and I'm piling on additional shirts to keep from shivering!) Now that we're...sort of...having Winter, and Derek needs to be at the bus stop by 7:20 in the morning, at least he has the sense (and frigid knees) to wear jeans when he shuffles out of the house. (He still refuses to succumb to his heavy coat, though, using the excuse that "it takes up too much space in his locker". Uh huh...) By the time Riley gets up, however, the thermometer has crept up just enough for us to engage in the unavoidable "but WHY do I have to wear long pants? I get so hot in school!" Debate. In an attempt to put an end to the daily drama, I finally set an absolute break point--the number at which I would cease to entertain arguments of any kind. And that number is: 40 degrees. That's right, if it's 40 or above, I let him get away with shorts. Anything that starts with a 2 or 3, no dice.

Believe it or not, the Pants Policy has saved us any number of pointless before-school apparel struggles; Riley is so used to it now, he just goes downstairs to check the readout on our indoor/outdoor thermometer, and dresses himself accordingly. (Although if he knows for a fact it's supposed to warm up later, I might catch some mutinous muttering under his breath about how uncomfortable he's going to be wearing the offensive leg-covering items until 4 p.m.) Occasionally, there has even been some positive feedback, such as on a recent barely-40-degree morning, when I allowed him to get away with shorts. His response? Dancing around delightedly, crowing "Thank you, thank you, thank you: Best. Mommy. Ever!" He added that the previous day, when it had been 37 degrees and he'd had to wear windpants to school, he was "burning up!"  Then there was yesterday, when the temps started in the 30s, but were projected to rise to the mid-60s by afternoon. Riley had obediently donned long pants in preparation for going to school, but when I shared the weather forecast with him, he hastily changed, right before leaving the house. Naturally, I didn't notice until we were already at the bus stop and it was far too late to enforce the Family Law. (Hey, maybe next time I could impose a fine! Like a...Shorts Surcharge, or something! Mwah hah hah!)

It should be noted that this is also the boy who will remove a sweatshirt before sitting down to a meal, since he has some kind of problem eating while clad in long sleeves. (Are you sensing an over-arching theme in his life? Yeah, me too...not that I understand it at all...) However...things might have gone just a bit too far when at dinner one night Riley picked up his fork to begin, then put it back down and mumbled into his plate that he needed to be excused for a moment to go upstairs. Okaaaayyyy...why? He looked around furtively, as if weighing whether he truly wanted to answer the question, then blurted, "Because I don't wanna eat with pants on!"  Oh. Dear. He's quite the character... my little Nudist Diner! (Alright, he did actually come back down to the table having changed into--you guessed it--shorts. Good thing we're not a Formal Dinner kind of family, right?)